Sometimes, life is just so overwhelming you have no choice but to laugh at the little things.
After an hour-and-a-half 9am sax lesson and a bagel, I go into an 1130am lesson for Singer H, rescheduled from Wednesday. Even though I’m five minutes late, she and Teacher are still going over French diction and I have nowhere to sit. I get out my phone.
Me: Omg freshman voice lessons. So boring.
Brooks: Just start speaking in tongues
Me: They’ll probably try to correct my diction
I did so little playing in the lesson that I had time to lotion my hands and let them dry while Teacher was researching something. These are really efficient lessons.
Meantime, my afternoon schedule gets rearranged. I do some errands and then another voice lesson (a cool one) for Singer K, call Grandma and wish her happy birthday, have a sax rehearsal, then head off to Singer K’s 5pm studio.
It’s in the choir room, and everyone is sitting on the right side of the room. So I head to the left, front row. Unobtrusive, easy exits, makes the singer focus more to the center. One performance, then us. I leave my bag on the chair, head up with my binder. We do Tu lo sai and it goes pretty well. Next is Der Lindenbaum. You know, that beautiful and beautifully depressing song from Schubert’s Winterreise? Yeah, it’s great.
Somewhere toward the end of the piece I hear a thunk, like something fell. (I like to think it was during the cold-wind-blowing part.) I’m unruffled, and apparently so is Singer K , probably because we’re used to practicing in noisy rooms. I wonder who dropped whatever it was. Eh, whatever. Keep playing. Look up at Singer K like I do every measure, because I’m a good collaborative pianist when I know what I’m doing, and I notice my bag is no longer sitting on the front row.
Yep. It practically fell at Singer K’s feet.